


Sinister as Silence

by MountainRose



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Geralt hates the silence now, M/M, Monster of the Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22309174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MountainRose/pseuds/MountainRose
Summary: Jaskier goes quiet for one second, and it's enough for Geralt to have a heart attack.(NOTE: THIS WAS POSTED WITH A NON-CON WARNING THROUGH AN EXCESS OF DUMBASS JUICE! There's no rape/non-con in this fic, and thank you very much to the commenter who pointed this out.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 716





	Sinister as Silence

"I'm... Fine! Really! Bit soggy, but who wouldn't rather get wet than land on rocks, really." 

Geralt leaned over the edge of the apparently bottomless well shaft and caught a glimpse of a pale face, squinting up. 

"You touching the bottom?" 

"I'll touch your bottom, if you ask nicely, Geralt. Assuming of course that you get me out." 

Question answered. Geralt dug through his pannier for the chainlash without particular rush. 

"That is--" Jaskier continued, "It is really quite slick down here. I don't think this doublet will ever be the same. Smells _dreadful,_ no wonder they capped the damn thing. Smells like something died--" 

Geralt lurched towards the edge of the well, the feeling of a sudden hunt swelling his chest with blood and making his ears roar in the sudden, wet silence. Out of the well shaft, a belch of foul drowner stench signaled why exactly Jaskier had fallen silent. 

The water churned below, violent and noisy but invisible in the oily darkness. Fuck. 

He jammed the chain into itself around the remnants of the windlass, and dropped into the darkness.

The water swallowed him, churning bubbles cutting off his hearing and the torch far above casting nearly no light. As he neared the deepest his fall would take him, he cast about in the water, fighting the bouyancy of his lungs to search the foetid dark. 

His hand met firm cloth and he latched on, other hand tight around his silver sword. Pulling Jaskier towards him brought the drowner too. 

He punched it in the fragile bones of it's forearm, wielding the pommel like a hammer, and the unearthly underwater screech of the thing half-deafened him. But it pulled away, the thrashing and screeching more than enough for Geralt to aim a thrust. 

The water went suddenly quiet, sloshing and churned by the struggle, but the drowner dead. 

He felt Jaskier kick, and they swam for the air together, though Geralt's armour and the precious sword slowed him down. 

"You know--"Jaskier gasped, clutching the brick and sat on a slab of bedrock and brushing against the dangling chainlash. "I would be glad of the-- ugh-- air, of it didn't stink of death. Ah! A chain! This is- oh you are a clever one, aren't you." 

Geralt, sword sheathed on his back and armour weighing twice it's usual, grunted. "Good lungs." 

"Oh, you know, when you sing for a living, holding your breath for a little while is nothing. I knew I just had to keep its teeth off me until you came." 

Geralt grumbled and joined him on the rock. "Can you climb?" 

"It's not far, really," Jaskier said, barely visible to Geralt's cat eyes.

"You can't fucking see. Can you." 

"Well... Somewhat? There's a circle up there! And your medalion was glowing whole the drowner yet screeched!" 

"Save it. Here." Geralt put the chain in Jaskier's hand and hoisted himmup the first three feet. 

"Oh hell, do I weigh *anything* to you, you great brute?" 

"Hmm." 

Jaskier scrambled to take advantage of the boost and hauled himself up and out of reach. The stones were dryer above head height, and the bard made good time. Geralt followed quickly, the stench deadening his nose. 

Jaskier grinned shakily at him from the other side of the torch. 

"Another adventure survived, eh, Geralt?" 

Geralt unjammed the chain, grabbed the pack, and then, grabbed the damn bard by the scruff of his doublet. 

"Oi! Don't-- well, I suppose it's probably ruined anyway, but, really. It's a perfectly good woollen doublet--" 

"Tavern. Bath. That way, Jaskier." 

"I am not arguing, you're the one dragging me around willy-nilly! And besides, I have the torch now, I can see again. And what about the arachnids?" 

"Hmmh. Tomorrow. Don't see any sign of them." 

"Well, that's a relief, really. Do you suppose--" 

Jaskier managed to talk all the way back to the copse where Roach was waiting, but his voice was getting a little hoarse, and the odd cough showed he had breathed at least some water. 

They packed Roach together, the bard quieting briefly, but when Geralt swung him up behind the saddle, Jaskier was off again. 

"Really, there's no need. Roach, darling, I'm sorry, he's a brute, I'll walk." 

"Stay, Jaskier." 

He urged roach to a gentle canter, her long, low stride smooth and steady down the cart track. Once, the mine had employed hundreds, now, the good road and bad well were all that was left.

"I really-- you're very comfortable, Roach, like riding a swan, but Geralt, we must weigh far too much--" Jaskier's voice really was getting worse, the rasp of it making Geralt's hackles prickle. "She's a warmblood, not a carthorse--"

"It's not far." 

"Fine, fine. But I'm getting her molasses in the morning, and--"

Geralt grunted, listening to him ramble on. The voice worried him. The waver in his tone was worse. 

"Jask. Shut up."

"But--!" 

"You'll loose your voice." He shifted the reigns to one hand and gripped Jaskier's wrist, tugging so the bard was snug against his back. Their wet clothes and the cold air ripped away any warmth that might have helped the bard, but at least he was sheltered from the wind. 

Silent Jaskier felt deeply, uncomfortably wrong, like Geralt needed to kill something, but he grit his teeth and bore with it. He hated it, and by the time they reached the tavern, though Jaskier seemed to have warmed up against his back, Geralt was ready to chew rocks. 

Once they dismounted and paid the stable staff, Jaskier pulled Geralt into the shadows before the tavern steps.

"Unclench that jaw before you scare they patrons," Jaskier ordered, one still-clammy hand patting Geralt on the cheek.

"My jaw will hardly make a difference," he growled, lowering his head and tilting to pin Jaskier with one shining yellow eye. Unlike any sensible human, Jaskier laughed, softly. 

"I'll talk all night if I have to, please Geralt. Just be calm. I'm fine, and a sore throat had never stopped me before." 

"Should do. You'll damage it." 

"I know, I stayed quiet this whole way didn't I? But quiet is the last thing you need today, hm?"

Geralt shook him off, stomping to the tavern doors and weathering the ripple of fear stench that he triggered. Their room was booked for three nights, they were expected; this bullshit was uncalled for.

He shouldered his way to the back, heading for the bathhouse without even stopping at their room. 

Behind him, he heard Jaskier start to declaim, hoarse voice and all, and rage bubbled up, mostly at himself for the sheer relief hearing the bards voice brought. 

Stripping and oiling his armour, the cloth coming away black and the steel brightening to silver, worked out a good amount of the tension, but he still twitched like a flystruck horse when Jaskier joined him. 

The bard had no such tasks between him and the hot water, though he did dump his clothes on a laundry pail before tipping a kettle of near boiling water into the tub and sliding in. He hummed and muttered and scrubbed at himself, and did not require Geralt to do anything. A heavy cough finally cleared the idiots throat and he sang a bright, clear stanza of the Ballad of Novigrad, the words mutated into something rather more cheerful by the broad grin on his face. 

Geralt's shoulders finally lowered and he glanced over, noting the pink warmth, the clear sound on his breath. Acceptable. 

He finished with his mail hauberk and stripped off the rest to join the idiot. The tub wasn't deep, but the water was hot and Jaskier already smelling like sweet warmth. Geralt sunk down to rinse off the well slime, and stayed down, nose just about the water and knees poking out awkwardly. I

Jaskier had gone quiet again and eventually Geralt sat up and started scrubbing, awkward and angry again.

"See, my friend? You've grown used to my blatherings." 

Geralt grumbled. "Think of yourself first, bard." 

Jaskier laughed gently, and Geralt felt the shadow of movement moments before Jaskier tucked up against his back, warm and soft. 

"I'm fine, your reflexes saw to that," he mumbled into the back of Geralts shoulder. "Keeping quiet won't protect my voice any more than leaving a sword on the mantle piece between slayings would keep it sharp. And besides, you *hate* it."

"I'm...fine."

"Is this why you never believe me when I say that? Because you only say it to lie?" 

Geralt twitched out of his embrace and turned enough to glare. 

"It's not worth. Your voice." 

"I rested when we rode here, Geralt," he repeated. "Let me be the judge of when it's worth doing." 

Unconvinced, but unable to think of an argument, Geralt turned back forwards and reached for the scrubbing salt. Stupid fucking bards could do what they pleased; he had drowner blood to get out of his stubble. 

Jaskier returned to humming and chatting, musing, and Geralt honestly could not fathom how he turned falling through a rotten well cap into a verse-worthy event, but he was half way there by the time they left the bathhouse. 

Their room was nearby, so Geralt wrapped the idiot in a towel and shoved him in front, where he could get in the least amount of trouble. 

The room was pleasant enough, though the fireplace was cold. They hadn't been expected back tonight. Damn pessimistic innkeeper. Igni sparked it to life well enough. 

"--and that strike, how did you know where to aim? You'd hold of my sleeve!" 

"Noise. Felt it's arm, broke it, and aimed for the scream," Geralt answered, hoping that the ballad would be accurate for once. 

Jaskier pitched his steaming body onto the bed, his composing face still firmly in place. Geralt hung his armour to dry, hands itching for the naked akin laid out for him, and checked the lockbox for Jaskier's lute and his spare potions; no one had interfered--

"Geralt," Jaskier said, finally. 

"Hnmh." 

The bard had propped himself up on one elbow, towel discarded in favour of the warm blankets, and Geralt finally gave in. 

He slipped into the bed, into the warm space Jaskier had created just for him. 

A pair of heartbeats, so distantly out of time, but close enough. Geralt shoved at Jaskier until he could use him as a pillow and listen to the clear, fast thump of his heart. 

"Alright, my friend. Sleep well." 

A hand landed in his hair and Geralt let himself drop into meditation, and from there, to sleep. 

Just before he lost the use of his senses, he hear Jaskier begin to hum. 


End file.
